


two slow dancers

by kaptivated



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Drabble, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post-Game(s), Slow Dancing, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 03:31:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15986717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaptivated/pseuds/kaptivated
Summary: It was in the evenings, when Saihara would come home with burdens on his shoulders and dread in his heart, that he saw him there: Ouma Kokichi standing as a statue, frozen in an artificial smile.





	two slow dancers

It was in the evenings, when Saihara would come home with burdens on his shoulders and dread in his heart, that he saw him there: Ouma Kokichi standing as a statue, frozen in an artificial smile.  
  
A hand, extended toward him. Saihara's heart would sing in gladness at the sight of it, that thing he had been seeking for so long but had never been able to catch. Throwing his burdens back with a relieved sigh, he'd take that hand in his, pale fingers weaving a web through the creases of his skin.  
  
He would jerk him closer, a mischievous look dancing in those violet eyes, whispering, "May I have this dance?"  
  
Music would play in Saihara's ears, its calming rhythm guiding his arm to Ouma's side as a mother to her child. A touch would meet his waist in return, gentle and sweet.  
  
"I've missed you, my beloved."  
  
Ouma would step forward, Saihara would step back. Saihara would step forward, Ouma would step back. Again and again, a constant cycle, a mutual exchange, wordless. Caught in his dance, Saihara would never dream of escape.  
  
It was in the mornings, when the sun would rise as inevitably as death had come, that he saw him there: Ouma Kokichi fading into a ghost, leaking out all over the press and seeping into the floorboards.  
  
Melting out of Saihara's hands, he'd burn bright pink, as obnoxiously vibrant as his personality had been, the one that they'd programmed into him.  
  
Morning would come, oh, mourning would come. Saihara would lay in bed and wonder once more, wander into thoughts of what could have been, if only he had known.

**Author's Note:**

> https://youtu.be/KUfkfJfsKrc
> 
> Though perhaps the lyrics may not capture the same idea, I was definitely thinking of this song when imagining Saihara slow dancing alone all night, holding nothing but thin air as his partner.
> 
> Comments are much appreciated <3


End file.
